The Unclaimed Duchess (4 page)

Anne pondered that thought for a moment, but then she shook her head. “I admit it is somewhat comforting to think of you coming with me and helping me confront Rhys if he is there. But it is clear that whatever has precipitated this problem has to do with your friendship, and if you came with me, you and Rhys would have to focus on that. And for
once, I don't want my interaction with my husband to have anything to do with you or with Society or with my father or his father…”

She clenched her fists at her sides as she trailed off. She sucked in a calming breath and continued, “As Lillian said, this confrontation must be about me and my husband. And he
is
my husband, whether he wants to be or not. I must go alone.”

Simon stared at her for a long moment, and then he sighed. “Very well. But I'll feel better if you at least allow me to send you in my carriage. My driver is very discreet, and the fewer people who know about this, the better.”

Anne opened her mouth to object, but then shut it. Perhaps Simon was correct. She didn't want to face the utter humiliation of having her own servants know she was chasing her husband across the country. As she would likely never see Simon's driver again, she would never have to face the fact that he knew her pain.

“Yes,” she said with a brief nod. “I can agree to that.”

“And,” he added, “I want you to send word to me when you do find Rhys. If you don't send word or you don't return within a week, I'll come there myself to search for you.”

Anne's eyes widened, and this time she had every
intention of arguing, but Simon lifted a hand to silence her. “It is not open for debate, Anne. Rhys is my…”

When Simon trailed off, Anne tilted her head. She had never seen the other man so pained. It echoed her own emotions, and she flitted her gaze away, uncomfortable.

“He is my friend,” Simon finished, his voice cracking. “The best I have ever had. I want to be certain that you are both well.”

After a moment's hesitation, Anne nodded. “I'll do that. Now I shall return home and make some arrangements. Will you send your man there in an hour or so?”

Simon nodded. “Yes.”

Anne turned to go, but Lillian's voice stopped her. “Anne?”

She looked back and found that Lillian was approaching her. Once again the other woman's arms wrapped around her in a tight embrace.

As she held her, Lillian whispered, “You are strong, Anne. Stronger than you think, in both your character and in your love for him.”

Anne flinched, hating that her emotions had been so clear to someone who was almost a stranger. Lillian released her when she stiffened, but smiled as Anne backed away.

“You'll need that strength,” Lillian continued. “Hold on to it.”

Anne stared. It was obvious from her tone and the pity in her stare that Lillian knew the secret Simon wouldn't tell her. Anne wasn't certain how she felt about that, but she pushed it aside, for another feeling was far more powerful in that moment.

Fear.

It was becoming rapidly clear to her that whatever she would face when she did find Rhys was going to be difficult indeed. And she wasn't sure if her one-sided love for him could overcome it.

R
hys stood on the high cliff, staring down at the sea below as it crashed with violence and power on the rocky beach. The angry slam of it reflected the wretchedness of his own heart, but it gave him no comfort.

In the week since Simon had come into his parlor and utterly destroyed his life, Rhys had been grappling with what he now knew about the shocking details of his birth. Every moment he was awake, the truth ate at him, forcing him to reflexively read and reread the documents that proved he was not the man he had always believed himself to be.

And the nights were worse. It was a struggle to find sleep, even when exhaustion clawed and burned his eyes. When he did collapse, sometimes with the help of alcohol, restless dreams kept him from any real respite.

And so he paced the cliffs, torturing himself not
just with the facts he knew, but with all the uncertainties that now plagued him.

He had been Rhys Carlisle his entire life and the Duke of Waverly for several years. He had built his whole person on those facts. He had behaved a certain way because that was his world. Damn, he had even formed the “Duke Club” as a boy, allowing only other first sons of dukes to join because at least they understood the majesty of what he would one day become. He had actively excluded “lesser” men from his circle, cutting sometimes viciously in order to maintain the sanctity of rank.

His father…except the man who had raised him wasn't his father…Thomas Carlisle, Rhys supposed he should now think of him as Thomas Carlisle. Either way, the elder duke had encouraged Rhys's arrogance, even going so far as to punish him if he showed empathy or friendliness to people of lower status. The last Duke of Waverly had reminded Rhys at every moment of every day that he
deserved
more than other people because he had such impeccable bloodlines. Because his ancestors and his title made him special.

So if none of that was true, if everything he had ever thought or felt or been taught about himself and his place in the world was a lie…then who was he? What was he? Where did he belong…or did he belong anywhere at all anymore?

And those thoughts didn't even begin to touch upon the possibility of blackmail. The idea that someone would try to obtain money for this shameful secret turned Rhys's stomach every time he thought of it. Thank God Simon was handling that problem at present. Whatever else he thought of his friend…
brother
…right now, he trusted him to handle that matter until Rhys came back to London.

With a frustrated shake of his head, Rhys walked to the edge of the cliff. There was but one safe place to dive, a small cove where the water far below was deep, there were no rocks, and the currents kept the waves from rolling in like fists of nature's fury. He had discovered it with the help of some village youths one summer long ago when he came here with his mother, before the concept of rank would have kept him from playing with those children.

Right now he wanted to feel the air across his cheek as he plummeted into the sea. He wanted the cold snap of the water to wake his body and erase the circling thoughts that tormented his mind. He found the spot, long ago marked with an unusual rock by the people who came here to take advantage of the same excitement.

Standing at the edge, Rhys stared at the water as he tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it aside on the grass. His trousers went next onto the pile.
For a moment Rhys thrilled at the pure exhilaration of standing nude at the edge of a cliff, about to dive fifteen feet into the icy water below. It made him feel alive and that was what he wanted, what he
needed
more than anything.

He moved into position to jump and was about to go over the edge when a piercing scream echoed through the still air around him. He pivoted in surprise to face the voice and perhaps offer some kind of assistance to its owner, but what he saw shocked him enough that he rocked back on his heels.

A carriage was now parked at the top of the gentle slope next to the cottage that had been his home since his arrival here a few days before. That would have been a surprising enough sight, since he had told no one of his coming here and very few people even knew this place existed.

But it was the person who had intruded upon his privacy that shocked him all the more. It was his wife who had thrown herself from the vehicle, not waiting for assistance or even shutting the door behind her before she sprinted down the hill toward him.

“No!” Anne screamed as she tossed a reticule aside and grasped her skirt in one fist to keep from tripping over it.

Rhys caught his breath at the sight of her wildly racing toward him, brown locks tumbling around her
cheeks in the breeze, the blond highlights catching the sun and almost sparkling.

“Anne?” he said, staring.

She didn't answer, but instead hurtled herself at him. He wasn't ready for her and staggered back, very nearly going over the cliff. Somehow he managed to lurch to the side before he landed flat on his back, his wife splayed over him.

And for a long moment, there was only silence.

 

Anne struggled to catch her breath, semi-stunned as she lay across Rhys's prone body. She hadn't exactly planned to greet her husband in such a way when she encountered him. But then neither had she expected to find him at the edge of a terrifying cliff, ready to jump to his death.

The very idea of that disintegrated her remaining shock and forced her to action.

“Don't you do this!” she cried out, lifting herself to grasp Rhys's shoulders and shake him. “Don't you take yourself from me, you selfish, stupid ass!”

Rhys stared up at her as if she had sprouted a second head, but then he shifted and they rolled farther away from the cliff's edge. However the motion also caused her to move beneath him and now she was pinned by his weight.

“What is wrong with you, woman?” he barked,
his warm breath heating her already flushed face. “You could have killed us both by attacking me in such a foolhardy fashion.”

Her brow wrinkled as she stared up at him. Her frightened mind was beginning to clear.

“I-isn't that what you wanted?” she asked.

“To die?” He drew back and his eyes narrowed. “Of course not.”

“So you weren't about to do yourself a harm when I pulled up to the cottage?” she asked, reliving that horrifying moment in a sudden burst that made her shiver.

His face softened a fraction for just a moment, such a rarity that she drank it in, but then whatever he felt was erased and he glared at her.

“No! I would certainly never think to do something so rash. I was merely about to dive off the cliff. I have done so since I was a child.”

“Oh,” Anne said, and said nothing more for she could think of nothing.

As her fear faded, she was startled to realize she was lying on the grass, covered by her husband's hard, muscular body…and he was utterly naked.

It was something that hadn't happened all that often in their new marriage. And now that her terror was fading, other feelings were making themselves
known. Other reactions in her confused and exhausted body.

Like she wanted to open her legs and let Rhys seat himself there. Like she longed for him to lean down and kiss her, let her feel that he was whole and alive after the last week of worry and anguish. Later she could be angry, later she
would
demand answers. Right now she just wanted to hold this man and be held by him.

Their gazes met and she thought she saw a flicker of something heated in his normally stoic stare. As if he, too, had just realized that he was utterly bare over her. That it wouldn't take much to flip up her skirts and touch her in the way a husband was meant to touch his wife.

“Rhys,” she whispered, her voice shaking with emotion.

He blinked, as if his name had snapped him from a haze. Without preamble he jerked himself to his feet. She stared because she couldn't help herself, watching as he bent over to snatch up his trousers. His bare skin was a temptation indeed.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as he covered himself.

The harshly spoken question yanked her from any reverie or fantasy that was in her mind. The anger
Anne had promised to save until later returned in the face of his arrogant nonchalance. He acted as if he had simply stepped out for a walk, rather than vanished without explanation for so many terrifying days!

“What am
I
doing here?” she repeated in utter shock. “What are
you
doing here? You are meant to be home, starting a new life with your bride. At least that was the plan, wasn't it? I never received word that you had changed it.”

He jolted at the directness of her reply, but then he reached down to offer her a hand. He remained shirtless and she stared at the strong hand, the bare arm, the naked chest that rose up over her. Then she took his offering and allowed him to help her to her feet. Of course he immediately released her as soon as she was steady. Oh, he was always the chivalrous gentleman…except when it came to anything real. And except, apparently, when it came to abandoning her.

“Anne,” he said, breathing heavily through his nose, almost like an angry bull. “Go home.”

She stared at him, unable to keep her mouth from dropping open in utter shock. Go home?
Go home?
She had trekked across Lord only knew how many awful miles, her mind spinning with the horrible possibilities of where her husband might be and what
he might be experiencing…She had cried for him; she had ached for him. Hell, she had thought he was going to throw himself off a cliff and made every effort to save him.

After all that, after all her years of dutiful companionship and unrequited love as she awaited their wedding, he thought he could dismiss her by saying,
Go home
?

He turned away to go back up to the cottage. His shoulders slumped as he walked up the hill, but he didn't look back. She watched him take every step and contemplated her options.

She could do as he said. After all, she had vowed to obey him in a church not two weeks before. Doing so would avoid at least some of the massive humiliation he had created with this situation. She had many friends who would take her side in London and her father would certainly take her back…and perhaps even demand satisfaction from Rhys when and if he ever returned to the city.

That was no doubt the easier route. But Anne hadn't spent two decades in love with this man to simply take the easier route at the first sign of trouble. She had come here because he might need her, and now, seeing him, she was more certain than ever that he did.

After all, he hadn't shaved perhaps for days, his
clothing, when he put it back on, was disheveled and wrinkled. He had been about to jump off a cliff
naked
.

No, the man who had pinned her down, the one walking away from her…he wasn't the bold, arrogant, oh-so-proper duke she had married. He wasn't the hard man she had loved despite his numerous faults.

And she wasn't about to walk away and regret it later. For the first time in her life, Anne realized she was going to have to fight.

With her heart throbbing so loud that it drowned out the crashing sea behind her, she jogged to catch up with Rhys. Reaching out, she caught his bare shoulder and pulled, forcing him to face her.

“No,” she whispered, her voice shaking. She cleared her throat and shook her head. “No. I won't leave, Rhys.”

His eyes widened and she knew why. He wasn't accustomed to anyone disobeying him, much less her. But these were desperate times and she couldn't do the things that were expected of her anymore.

“Anne,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “I said you should go and I expect you to do so. Now leave!”

She shook her head a second time. “No. I won't no matter how many times you demand it. I have
come all this way for an explanation as to why you abandoned me in London, but also to help you if I could.”

She realized her tone was elevating until she was almost screaming and she hated herself for being unable to control her anger and pain, but it was so potent, so powerful that it overwhelmed all reason.

“I don't want your help,” he said, his own voice becoming louder. “I want you to leave me alone. I promise you, Anne, it will be all the better for you. I swear you do not want to do this.”

Anne recoiled. There was the “lord of the manor” she had come to know. Rhys had always believed he knew best for anyone and everyone around him. At times she had found this quality charming; it had even given her hope, for if he inserted himself in the troubles of others, it meant on some level he actually cared about the welfare of even those beneath him.

But now, having him turn that “duke knows best” attitude toward her, especially in this charged moment, she felt no gratitude for it. In fact, just the opposite.

Her hands went to her hips. “How would you know what I want, Waverly? In all the years we've been together, you have never
once
asked me. Well, now I'm going to tell you whether you ask or not. I
want to be here, I want to be with
you
, and for once I am doing the thing
I
desire. Nothing you say shall move me or force my hand.”

He opened his mouth as if to continue his protests, but before he could, the driver who had brought her here stepped around his carriage. He stared at the couple with obvious concern, as well as interest.

“Y-Your Grace,” he called out, tentative. His gaze flashed from one of them to the other, as if he wasn't certain who he was addressing. “Are you well? Are you in need of some kind of assistance?”

Anne flushed so hot that it felt as though her cheeks were on fire. She had all but forgotten the stranger who had been her escort, and now she and her still-half-naked husband had been exchanging harsh words not ten feet away from him like a common fishwife and her beleaguered groom.